A Comforting Presence (Steve/Tony) Part 2a
Title: A Comforting Presence
Fandom: Avengers (2012), Marvel movieverse
Pairing: Steve/Tony, gen
Summary: It starts with Clint, and then from there, every time an Avenger gets hurt (physically or otherwise), they seem to show up at Steve’s doorstep. Eventually he stops bothering to lock it (though Tony breaking in to his apartment every morning might also have something to do with that.) Or, a series of non-linear flashbacks and events, illustrating how Steve went from being very alone in the 21st century to having five (maybe even more) roommates (family) and why Tony decided to build the Avengers mansion.
Notes: POST-Avengers, there are MAJOR spoilers for the movie
Warnings: Angst, gradual romance, fluff, non-linear timeline
Also on AO3
Previous: Part 1
A Comforting Presence
II. Natasha
Before:
He feels a headache coming from arguing with Fury about his new living arrangements. Now that he has come into terms with the future and (some) of his feelings, he doesn’t think that he should stay and be S.H.I.E.L.D.’s obedient little pet. He’s seen that the leader of this organization is not as honest as he seems (particularly since the weapons building scheme with the tesserect) and he doesn’t want Fury to have power over him.
Steve feels like a fish, stuck in a bowl, unable to swim away. He thinks that if he sees more metal walls (cold like the ice, he can still feel it creeping in his skin) that he will break down and see Bucky’s frozen corpse staring at him or the Howlers, burning in trenches, reaching for him.
His little phone is vibrating, signaling another text message. Steve finds it odd that Stark (no, call him Tony now) has so much time to send little sentences about anything and nothing all at once. He gets texts telling him that Bruce is eating green frosted cake or that one of his robots is an idiot (though Steve thinks that with a name called Dummy, the robot might be doing it on purpose.)
He doesn’t know how to reply to them and he doesn’t think he should. He doesn’t have much to say on the subject. How does one communicate just quiet amusement? It would be easier to paint his feelings.
Frustrated, he goes to the gym and sees that Agent Romanoff is there already, doing crunches and sit-ups with ease. He has not crossed her path since the avengers had to see Thor and Loki off a few days ago.
“Steve,” she nods to him when he comes over.
“Agent Romanoff, good morning,” he sets down his bag. “Mind if I join you?”
She raises an eyebrow, “What, sparring?”
Actually he had just wanted to do some stretches, but a spar would be a welcome distraction. He’s interested to see how long he can last against the Russian Assassin after seeing her destroy so many Chitauri in battle. Steve holds no illusions that he could beat her easily. Combat is a matter of wits and common sense, something that he knows that the black widow possesses in greater capacities than he does.
“Sure, why not? Let’s go a few rounds, I could use some lessons,” He agrees. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge and he truly can learn a thing (dozens of tips in fact) from his teammate.
Oddly enough, she seems surprised if the skeptical look she wears is any indicator. Romanoff studies him for a few awkward seconds before she gives a small smile. “Very well. I won’t go easy on you.”
“Neither will I,” He replies.
And this time, he thinks that her smile is genuine.
-
Natasha ends up winning three quarters of their spars and when Steve is thrown on his back again for the seventeenth time, they decide to sit down for a short break. Quietly they sit on the bench together. Steve offers her a water bottle while she gives him a towel to dry off the sweat. The gym is silent save for their heavy breaths and pleased grins.
“I heard what you said to Clint the other day,” Natasha tells him.
Steve tries not to choke on a big gulp from the bottle. “Sorry, um, what day?”
She rolls her eyes and gives him a heavy punch in the arm, “After we had shawarma.”
“Oh,” He pauses in recollection. “Yes, I remember.”
Even though he’d been half-asleep at the time his promise was engrained in his mind, to be more open and watchful over his new team. They hadn’t fought in any battles together since Loki, but Steve hopes that they will all meet again, under more peaceful circumstances. It would be... nice, he thinks.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear that,” Steve says sheepishly when he realizes that the black widow is waiting for some sort of reply.
Her response is only another amused smile and for a moment, Steve sees his mother, ruffling his hair when he got caught in the mud trying to play with the big boys or climbing trees with Bucky. “Whatever will we do with you, honey?” She used to say, throwing him up in her arms, before the illness, before she would pale whenever he tried to step out of the house.
“Did you mean it?” Natasha’s voice brings him out of the memory.
He blinks, recalling the subject and says without thinking, “Yes. I did. I do, I mean. If Clint, or you, or any of the team need anything, you can come by. I’ll do my best to help.”
Natasha doesn’t respond. She is scrutinizing him, as if he has told her that he can breathe fire (but in this future, such powers might even be possible, so he shouldn’t be surprised anymore.)
“So your offer extends not just to Clint... but to all of us,” She says carefully.
“Of course,” Steve replies, wondering at how strange his comrade is acting. “That includes you too, Natasha. Is that why you’re asking? Do you need anything?”
She surprises him by laughing openly for the first time in his company. “No, Captain,” she reaches up to flick his nose. “Everything is fine. Come on, let’s go spar again. I’ll show you how to take down your opponent in less than five seconds.”
-
Now:
“They have him in a public hospital here in New York. But he’s in a private wing, guarded by agents and surveillance cameras. I’ve only snuck in once but it’s damn difficult to get out, let alone drag an unconscious coma patient out without hurting him,” Clint leans back against the hammock.
They’re downstairs and Steve is staring hard at the blackboard. He’s already sketched a map of the city, and put in the position of the hospital. Clint has given him some vague floor plans (“Sorry, I was distracted, wanted to see if Phil was... there,” and Steve can’t blame him at all.) But they’ll need more details about the layout and more importantly...
“I don’t know much about the technology they’re using,” He admits. “I know there are tiny cameras hidden in walls or something, but I’m not sure how we’ll bypass them without more information.”
“Hey, let me handle that,” Clint sits up, a confident grin on his lips. “I’m an expert at that sort of thing. We’ll just need a few tools... I can’t access my bank account at the moment. Don’t want S.H.I.E.L.D. to know what I’m up to.”
“Alright, I guess I’ll purchase them,” Steve agrees. He doesn’t use his trust fund (and culminated pay from the last seventy years) for much but buying food and art supplies. “What do we need?”
“Some top-secret tech from Stark industries... code breakers and things like that. Here,” Clint says when he sees Steve’s confusion, “I’ll make a list. You can’t buy them at any normal store though.”
Steve wrinkles his brow, “Then where do we get them?”
“Ask Stark. But don’t tell him what we’re up to yet. He’ll just blow up the hospital and try to stash Phil in his big mansion and that is not happening on my watch.”
“But... we really should let him know why we need his tech. He’d want to know,” Steve can’t quite erase image of Tony Stark’s empty and broken expression after they found out about Coulson’s supposed death. He can’t take away the words that he spoke, words that he had had to tell himself over and over again during battle and after Bucky died, is this the first time you lost a soldier?
“No,” Clint shakes his head. “That man is a freaking wild card. He’ll honestly burn headquarters to the ground if he finds out that he’s been played like the rest of us. It’s not about revenge, not yet. This is about Phil and having him home and safe. And...”
He trails off, staring at the silhouette painted on the wall, like it will give him answers.
Steve swallows painfully again and nods. “Okay. Fine, but... we’ll tell him as soon as we rescue Phil, deal?”
Clint sighs, “Alright.”
Tony is going to kill them both when he finds out. Steve is already envisioning himself begging for forgiveness from the top of Stark Tower, having to apologize again for being thoughtless. Then something else occurs to him.
“Wait, how can I possibly ask him for all these materials without a good explanation? Why don’t you ask him?”
Clint smirks and Steve thinks that the people of the future must be taking a class of some sort for mysterious smiles, “Are you kidding? He hates building stuff for me ever since I killed a dozen of his precious robots. Besides, he likes you the best.”
Steve hits his elbow against the blackboard when he turns around, “What? How do you...? That can’t be true! There’s Bruce.” Steve is pretty sure that Tony and Bruce are the best science buddies ever. It would be slightly frightening to observe how fast they bonded if Steve hadn’t had similar experience befriending his squadron.
The archer only smiles and Steve wonders if they’re still speaking the same language.
“Just call him,” Clint tosses him his cell phone. “Oh, and ask for some heart monitors and shit. We’ll need them.”
“Right... and... um...”
“Stark is number two on your speed dial, after me,” his guest replies with mock patience.
Steve throws his chalk at him, missing purposefully by two inches. He is not going to try anymore. Clearly Clint’s brand of insane has a different translation than Steve’s. But that’s fine.
There is a few moments pause before Steve asks, “Clint... what’s a speed dial?”
-
Surprisingly Tony picks up after one ring, which is awfully quick if Steve has any right to judge.
“Wow, congratulations stars and stripes!” The billionaire is practically shouting in his ear. He thinks he can hear more of that obnoxious hard metal in the background. “I thought you’d never figure out how to use my starkphone! Now we need to graduate you from text messages, unless, hey, you’re not phoning the wrong number, are you? Just so you know, I’m number one on your speed dial-”
“Huh?” Steve blinks, “No, you’re not. Clint is.” He’s pretty sure that Clint is, because he just pressed the ‘two’ before calling...
There is a frenzy of cursing that could make even the Howling Commandos pause in shock and Steve only holds his forehead in half amusement and half scandalized shock.
“Fucking Barton,” Tony finishes. “Next time we have lunch I’ll fix it, don’t you worry, stars and stripes-”
“-please stop calling me that-”
“-Now, what’s the occasion?” His voice is light but Steve can hear the undertone of worry there, “Are you finding things okay? Did your new roomie do anything?”
“...I have no idea what means, but I’ll assume ‘roommate’ and no, he’s fine. It’s just... I, uh... I need a favour.”
He sort of expects Tony to laugh off the request, turn it into another joke or lewd sexual innuendo because the man has some odd obsession of making Steve blush (apparently it’s entertaining and like teasing a puppy, not that Tony often teases puppies... he hopes.) Sometimes he thinks that Tony wants him to yell again but he can’t think of a reason why (and maybe he can, but he just can’t think of it yet.)
But when Tony lowers the volume of his music and says in a serious tone, “What is it?” Steve feels guilty all over again.
After they bring Phil to the apartment, he’ll tell Tony that the agent is alive. For now, he hopes that Tony won’t question too much of his requests.
“Alright,” Steve says cautiously. He begins to read out the list.
-
“Wow. This is all high-tech stuff, cap. Didn’t know that you had read up on all this already…” Tony comments in a suspicious way which makes Steve believe that the farce is over, that his acquaintance knows and... “Tell me the truth. You’re not really the one who’s asking for this crap, are you?”
“Um,” Steve begins to stammer, different excuses running through his mind.
“...It’s Barton, right? The little sneak is getting you to do his errands for him or something. Well tell him to get his own shit.”
“No, wait! He really needs it, please, Tony. It’s important.”
He thinks that this is it. Tony will hang up now and then he and Clint will have to find another way to get the equipment that they need but then, miraculously, Tony just sighs dramatically, “Alright. Fine. Just this once. But I’m not going to let this die down. I’ll find out what he’s up to, these are some weird requests, even for him.”
Steve almost collapses in relief, “Thanks so much, Tony. I mean it, you’re a pal-”
“Yeah, yeah,” is the quick response, “Tell Barton that he’s lucky it’s you asking, stars and stripes. I’ll have my people deliver what you need by tonight or tomorrow at the latest.”
He hangs up before Steve can berate him for using that nickname again.
-
“You should wear a disguise,” Clint tells him later, after he stops preening when Steve informs him of the successful phone call. “Maybe purchase some black clothes and a mask of some kind. We can’t have anyone suspecting that Captain America is involved in all this.”
Steve wrinkles his nose. “I’m not daft enough to waltz into a public hospital and S.H.I.E.L.D. guarded facility wearing that flashy blue and red outfit.”
Clint only sniggers, his good humour returning.
“I’m serious,” Steve blushes. “At least you and Ms. Romanoff have practical uniforms, black, good for blending in. I stand out, like someone’s painted a target on my back.”
Even during the war, he had never been comfortable as the national icon for his country. It feels wrong somehow, like he is masquerading in a body not his own, claiming to be a hero-A hero? Like you? You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came from a bottle-when he would much rather do his job, what is right, as everyone else.
“Well, stars and stripes do suit you... oddly enough.”
Steve blushes again, reminded of Tony’s strange nickname for him, as if all he is meant to represent and be is a symbol America’s patriotism values.
“I’ve only been wearing it in memory of Phil. He helped design it,” Steve says before he can stop himself.
Then he wants to hit himself for having such a bad brain-to-mouth filter. He glances over at Clint quickly, hoping that he didn’t damper the mood. But Clint is staring thoughtfully at his crossed hands, “Yeah, I suppose he did.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve says quickly. “I didn’t mean to-”
The lines around Clint’s eyes crinkle upwards, “What? To bring up bad memories? Nah, they’re actually good ones. He’s always been a big geek about you, Cap. When I was guarding the tesserect, all the texts I’d get him from him would be ‘Oh god, we found Captain America’ or ‘He’s actually alive’ or ‘I got to watch him sleep today’ which is pretty creepy but hilarious. I’ve even got a picture of when he was seven in Captain America pyjamas.”
“Oh dear God,” Steve doesn’t think that he’ll be able to glance at those cards on the coffee table with a straight face or without grimacing again, “Please tell me that’s not true.”
Clint bursts into a fit of laughter, clapping him on the shoulder, “Course not. But for all I know, it could be. We should ask him when he wakes up.”
He doesn’t know why, but the archer’s faith in this, the mission, in him, makes him want to bury his face in his arms if only it would stop the overwhelming emotions surfacing inside. But he doesn’t. Steve just swallows and closes his eyes.
“Yes, we should.”
-
“You should finish your dinner, it’s getting cold,” he says as casually as possible. Tonight Steve has prepared a quick pasta dish and some salad. He’d had a baking spree of banana muffins while Clint had explained all he knew about the place where Phil was being held. They sit in a little pyramid-shaped stack which Clint reaches for.
“Pasta first!”
“Yes, mother,” Clint smirks through gobbles of pastry and pushes one muffin towards Steve. “Speaking of which, you should put more on your plate.”
Steve looks down at his own meal, which is barely touched and fills but a quarter of his plate.
“Its fine, I don’t eat a lot in the evenings.”
In the army he was used to the army issues rations and didn’t complain if he didn’t get more. He’s used to being hungry. But since he’s been unfrozen from the ice, he hasn’t been eating, just a portion of vegetables or a quick breakfast before he leaves to train. He bakes until the table is overflowing with baked goods but he has no appetite for them, hence his continued charity to the food bank.
Clint gives him a glare that tells him that he’ll find an arrow desecrating all of his precious sketchbooks if he doesn’t stuff the muffin in his face and so Steve complies. Clint nods smugly, ignoring his salad for more dessert.
“...Maybe we should ask Ms. Romanoff to help us,” Steve suggests once he’s swallowed more muffin than his appetite will allow him (and even then, it’s only half a muffin and Clint doesn’t appear happy about it.) “She could sneak in as a nurse or something.”
“No way,” Clint points his fork at Steve. “We’re not involving Nat. End of story. Moving on.”
“But I don’t see why,” the tactician in him speaks. “We could use as much help as we can get. She wouldn’t betray us.”
“I know that. But just, please cap, I can’t let her get into this. It’s my mission. My fault, my responsibility.”
Steve wants to tell Clint that it isn’t; it never was and never will be. He wants to let Clint know that his actions under Loki’s spell were never his fault and that he doesn’t have to keep fighting to repent for his nonexistent sins.
But when he is about to say just that, Clint shakes his head. “Please, Steve. I know. I know. Just, please. I don’t... I can’t let her do this for me.”
He doesn’t want to agree. It’s against his nature and he thinks that Tony and Natasha need to know about this, more than Steve does. He doesn’t even know why Clint went to him instead of the other two, who are probably closer to him (well, at least Natasha is.) Yet the way Clint is pleading with him tells Steve that there is much he doesn’t understand about the relationship between Natasha, Phil and the archer and he thinks that he may never fully understand it.
He closes his eyes again, “Tell her after we’ve got Phil settled here.”
Again, there’s a sigh, this time more exhausted and worn.
“I will.”
-
Clint goes to stake out the hospital and find out the floor plans. Steve cautions him to be careful of his wounds but the archer tells him that he’ll be fine. “Surveillance is my specialty, captain,” he assures him. “They won’t even know that I’m there.”
It doesn’t stop Steve from worrying but it does ease some of the tension.
Steve spends his morning drive thinking up different scenarios and plans of attack to get Phil out of the hospital. They will need to do their research, find out what kind of medication Phil will need. Will they need to carry the machines at the same time as Phil? Will he be able to breathe without them? Steve is glad the he told Clint to steal Phil’s hospital records as well.
He’s so distracted that he nearly walks into Director Nick Fury but luckily his reflexes let him dodge that collision. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to look at the man without trying to glare him to death any time soon. Steve wants explanations, but now isn’t the time. Clint needs this, to save Phil first, and Steve will be damned if he can’t make that happen.
“Rogers,” Fury acknowledges him, a skeptical twitch of his frown telling Steve that the director has taken notice of his behavior.
“Director,” Steve greets him, trying not to show how tense he is. “Good morning.”
“No missions today, captain,” as usual, “but I do have an update on one of your fellow Avengers.”
“Oh,” He feigns innocence. “Is it serious? Are they alright?”
Fury looks, if possible, sterner, “I’m not sure. You tell me.”
“...I’m not quite sure what you mean, sir.”
“Agent Clint Barton has been missing for several weeks since his last mission. No one seems able to track him down,” Fury explains. “You wouldn’t happen to have any information that we could use to track him down, would you?”
Steve thinks of the confusion (and blots out the other feelings) that he felt when he was updated on the twenty first century, a mere eight hours after he woke, brings it all up so that it shows on his face, and says, “No, sir, not at all. Agent Barton and I aren’t on close terms. I hardly know anything about him.”
Fury studies him for a moment, before he puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and then nods, “Alright. Enjoy your day, captain.”
It is only when Fury is out of sight that Steve thinks his pulse stops rushing.
-
Of course, it is only then, when he has his guard down that he finds himself yanked into one of the offices and locked in, a hand clamped on his mouth and the other hand to his arms in a hold that he can’t get out of easily. But that doesn’t stop him from trying.
Steve thrashes, hoping to knock over the other person while his muffled protests are cut off when he hears a low hiss, “It’s me!”
Immediately, he halts, vision narrowing on Natasha. He hadn’t realized that she had returned from her mission yet.
She lets go of him but doesn’t move her fists from the collar of his shirt. Her eyes bore into his skin. “I know you lied to Director Fury. You have a terrible poker face. Yes, you do. Now tell me, where’s Clint and what’s happened to him?”
He considers denying everything, but one glance at Natasha and Steve just can’t lie to her face to face. Bucky and the Howling Commandos would be laughing at him for his sentimentality, he contemplates.
“Well?” Natasha frowns.
Steve lets out a long breath. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
She raises an eyebrow.
Then he feels embarrassed to ever have said that, because the Black Widow is the master at holding secrets to her chest. She would be the least likely candidate to diverge their plans. (But of course, this is yet another one of the reasons why Steve wanted Natasha in on the operation.)
“Right, and... Clint doesn’t want you to know.”
Natasha crosses her arms. “I’ll be the judge of that. Now talk.”
He does.
-
The Black Widow is terrifying when she’s on a rampage, cursing violently in Russian. The office is not recognizable anymore with chairs toppled over and the actual tables broken in pieces, the light bulb dangling by wires from the ceiling. He thinks that she’s caused more destruction than Thor did to the gym before the Norse god returned to Asgard.
“I can’t believe this... that Director Fury would... and Clint, that, that stupid”-another guttural sound in her mother tongue-“did he really think that he could stop me from helping? Alright, let’s go, Captain.”
“Wait... Are you sure...?”
Natasha’s smile is, if possible, even more frightening, “You wouldn’t be able to stop me from helping you free Coulson if you tried. Now let’s go back to your place. I think it’s time that you showed me around.”
Steve tries not to feel sorry for Clint, he really does.
-
Natasha takes charge of the bike, because Steve thinks she might cut off his hands if he tries to drive and he’s too polite to refuse (besides, she’s just as an able pilot as she is a fighter, probably better than Steve is.) She is a reckless driver. Steve has to hold on for dear life because he thinks that they’re going to crash into another unsuspecting truck or taxi with the number of times that Natasha lane changes to bypass the slower vehicles.
They stop at a florist’s shop for reasons known only to Natasha. She carries out stacks of potted plants. Herbs, she tells him, and other healing remedies for practical purposes. “Your place will need them. Never know when you need some aloe or the antidote to an unknown poison,” she says when she makes him hold them carefully in their plastic bags. “Water them every day, and don’t drop them before we get there.”
He treats the plants like they’re the keys to the world and is thankful when he gives her the last directions to his apartment building. Before he knows it, Natasha is pushing him up the stairs where he leads her to his door.
“Hey, welcome home, man,” Clint calls out from the dining area. “I picked up some more flour for your baking and I got the floor plans...”
The archer drops the bag of sugar and salt on his foot when he sees Natasha there.
“Shit,” He stares at him, betrayed. “Steve!”
“Um, I’m sorry?”
“Oh no,” the Black Widow growls behind him, “Don’t apologize for what you can’t help, Steve... now, you on the other hand,” she glowers at Clint.
With wide eyes, Clint tries to jump up on the counter to get away from her.
It hardly matters at this point, as Steve observes Natasha storming over to Clint and dragging him by the wrists into the guest bedroom, slamming the door shut. He doesn’t even want to know what they’re going to do there. Hopefully make up, and soon.
He only sighs, moving to tidy up the floor and put his new plants on the floor by the windows. Afterwards, Steve steps downstairs to make some adjustments on the plan to include the Black Widow. There are a series of loud bangs and crashing sounds upstairs and Steve sincerely hopes that they’ll leave his few possessions intact.
-
Its lunch by the time Natasha and Clint come out of the guest bedroom. There are bruises littering Clint’s arms and face yet only a scratch has marred Natasha’s. She looks pleased while Clint is grumbling, acting as if the world will end tomorrow. Steve definitely doesn’t want to ask.
He sets up three places at the table, thankful he has six chairs. They’ve yet to be painted yet, along with the furniture, but Steve’s muse is itching to get started. He wonders what might be created there, if it will be more scenes of nature or colours he doesn’t understand.
Now that she isn’t blinded with anger, Natasha is staring with interest at the murals surrounding them on all sides and above them. Her lips part a little when she takes in the ceiling, the patterns of stars illustrating different people and spelling different names.
“Interesting what you’ve done with the décor, Steve. You’re very skilled.”
“More like a living Da Vinci,” Clint snorts. “You should see what he’s painted downstairs. It’s amazing.”
Steve feels his cheeks colour and he shakes his head, “Oh, no. It’s not that great. You can look at it later. Both of you should eat something.”
The two assassins share an amused glance and take seats beside each other. On the other side of the table, Steve brings out a tray of sandwiches and another of croissants. He has some fruit too, in a bowl, but knowing Clint, the fruit will be ignored. Steve grabs an apple and when Clint gives him the evil eye, half a sandwich. In return, Clint adds a banana to his stockpile of beef sandwiches.
“We need a way to infiltrate the hospital,” Natasha says between mumbled bites, starting with the croissants. “These are really good by the way, did you bake them?”
“Already have one,” Clint mutters, biting into his sandwich with relish. “Just need to hack into their cameras with Stark’s equipment and then we’re all set.”
“Oh really?” Natasha steals one of his croissants. “And how do you plan on entering?”
“Disguises.”
“Uh-huh. What disguises?”
“We’ll be wearing masks and dressed in black, no one will know who we are!”
“Right,” Natasha replies with her blank face. “And if someone sees you they’ll just think you’re a robber or a terrorist and shoot you on sight. Brilliant plan.”
Clint scowls at her, looking ready to start hurtling croissants and bread. Steve takes this moment to intervene.
“Well, what were you thinking then?” He asks. “Because we do need a way to sneak Agent Coulson out of the hospital without being conspicuous-the original plan couldn’t account for more effective disguises since Clint and I don’t have access to them. We were just going to break in, disable the agents and try to run off with him.”
Natasha smiles secretively. “I have contacts. I can get us in as hospital support staff and passes with S.H.I.E.L.D.”
“That’s great!” Steve beams at them. “Clint, we’re going to put you on surveillance and sniper duty. You can warn us when we might get compromised.”
“As long as I don’t have to dress up as a nurse, I’m fine with whatever you say, Captain.”
“Oh? Are you sure that Coulson wouldn’t get a kick out of you playing doctor?”
“Shut up, Nat.”
Steve put a hand on his forehead, “Natasha can get in as one of the staff and gain entry into the wing during one of the hours when there is less security and we’ve bugged the cameras. You’ll need to take the route to the quickest exit, acquire an ambulance.”
“I can get one,” says Clint. “It’d be a good place to put in our equipment too.”
“Great. We’ll need an excuse to wheel Agent Coulson out though.”
“I’ll just make some fake badge, flash it around. Should do the trick,” Natasha tells them. She seems to be on her fourth croissant so far. “You should come in disguised with me, Steve.”
He tilts his head thoughtfully, “Won’t I be recognized? It would make more sense for me to be on surveillance with Clint.”
Though, when he takes the time to survey their options again he knows that Clint is capable of handling surveillance on his own. Natasha could use some backup if things get messy or other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents get involved. There needs to be a second person to take care of outside threats so that Natasha can secure Phil and escape.
“No, wait… it’s a good idea. I’m assuming you have different ways of hiding who I am?”
Natasha smiles dangerously again, “Oh, I do. Don’t worry, I do.”
The rest of the lunch goes smoothly, but Steve doesn’t miss the pained glances Clint continues to send Natasha throughout the meal when he thinks that neither occupant at the table is looking. He wonders what other reasons Clint could have for wanting to keep the Black Widow from the truth about Agent Coulson besides the emotional pain.
He wonders if it could be detrimental to their mission.
-
Clint goes to wash the dishes as he always does. Natasha observes this, calling it ‘domestic’ and Clint responds by flicking soap in her hair. Steve wonders if he’ll have to break up another fight and wishes that they would both just sort out their problems and anger towards each other right there and then.
But surprisingly no water fight erupts by the sink. Instead, Steve sees Clint whistling a tune from Brahms to himself.
Natasha is looking with interest at the mural in the kitchen, the painted face on the cupboard doors, with long angelic wings that stretch into the constellations on the ceiling. She touches the tips of the feathers, like she can feel them despite the flat surface that they exist upon. Then Natasha traces the details of the woman’s hair and her eyes.
“Who is she?” She asks.
Steve feels his throat constrict as he says, “My mother.”
Both Clint and Natasha turn towards him in surprise and regret, but he can’t bear to see that on their faces, so he says ‘excuse me’ and retreats to his art room.
Part 2 cont
Fandom: Avengers (2012), Marvel movieverse
Pairing: Steve/Tony, gen
Summary: It starts with Clint, and then from there, every time an Avenger gets hurt (physically or otherwise), they seem to show up at Steve’s doorstep. Eventually he stops bothering to lock it (though Tony breaking in to his apartment every morning might also have something to do with that.) Or, a series of non-linear flashbacks and events, illustrating how Steve went from being very alone in the 21st century to having five (maybe even more) roommates (family) and why Tony decided to build the Avengers mansion.
Notes: POST-Avengers, there are MAJOR spoilers for the movie
Warnings: Angst, gradual romance, fluff, non-linear timeline
Also on AO3
Previous: Part 1
A Comforting Presence
II. Natasha
Before:
He feels a headache coming from arguing with Fury about his new living arrangements. Now that he has come into terms with the future and (some) of his feelings, he doesn’t think that he should stay and be S.H.I.E.L.D.’s obedient little pet. He’s seen that the leader of this organization is not as honest as he seems (particularly since the weapons building scheme with the tesserect) and he doesn’t want Fury to have power over him.
Steve feels like a fish, stuck in a bowl, unable to swim away. He thinks that if he sees more metal walls (cold like the ice, he can still feel it creeping in his skin) that he will break down and see Bucky’s frozen corpse staring at him or the Howlers, burning in trenches, reaching for him.
His little phone is vibrating, signaling another text message. Steve finds it odd that Stark (no, call him Tony now) has so much time to send little sentences about anything and nothing all at once. He gets texts telling him that Bruce is eating green frosted cake or that one of his robots is an idiot (though Steve thinks that with a name called Dummy, the robot might be doing it on purpose.)
He doesn’t know how to reply to them and he doesn’t think he should. He doesn’t have much to say on the subject. How does one communicate just quiet amusement? It would be easier to paint his feelings.
Frustrated, he goes to the gym and sees that Agent Romanoff is there already, doing crunches and sit-ups with ease. He has not crossed her path since the avengers had to see Thor and Loki off a few days ago.
“Steve,” she nods to him when he comes over.
“Agent Romanoff, good morning,” he sets down his bag. “Mind if I join you?”
She raises an eyebrow, “What, sparring?”
Actually he had just wanted to do some stretches, but a spar would be a welcome distraction. He’s interested to see how long he can last against the Russian Assassin after seeing her destroy so many Chitauri in battle. Steve holds no illusions that he could beat her easily. Combat is a matter of wits and common sense, something that he knows that the black widow possesses in greater capacities than he does.
“Sure, why not? Let’s go a few rounds, I could use some lessons,” He agrees. He’s never been one to back down from a challenge and he truly can learn a thing (dozens of tips in fact) from his teammate.
Oddly enough, she seems surprised if the skeptical look she wears is any indicator. Romanoff studies him for a few awkward seconds before she gives a small smile. “Very well. I won’t go easy on you.”
“Neither will I,” He replies.
And this time, he thinks that her smile is genuine.
-
Natasha ends up winning three quarters of their spars and when Steve is thrown on his back again for the seventeenth time, they decide to sit down for a short break. Quietly they sit on the bench together. Steve offers her a water bottle while she gives him a towel to dry off the sweat. The gym is silent save for their heavy breaths and pleased grins.
“I heard what you said to Clint the other day,” Natasha tells him.
Steve tries not to choke on a big gulp from the bottle. “Sorry, um, what day?”
She rolls her eyes and gives him a heavy punch in the arm, “After we had shawarma.”
“Oh,” He pauses in recollection. “Yes, I remember.”
Even though he’d been half-asleep at the time his promise was engrained in his mind, to be more open and watchful over his new team. They hadn’t fought in any battles together since Loki, but Steve hopes that they will all meet again, under more peaceful circumstances. It would be... nice, he thinks.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear that,” Steve says sheepishly when he realizes that the black widow is waiting for some sort of reply.
Her response is only another amused smile and for a moment, Steve sees his mother, ruffling his hair when he got caught in the mud trying to play with the big boys or climbing trees with Bucky. “Whatever will we do with you, honey?” She used to say, throwing him up in her arms, before the illness, before she would pale whenever he tried to step out of the house.
“Did you mean it?” Natasha’s voice brings him out of the memory.
He blinks, recalling the subject and says without thinking, “Yes. I did. I do, I mean. If Clint, or you, or any of the team need anything, you can come by. I’ll do my best to help.”
Natasha doesn’t respond. She is scrutinizing him, as if he has told her that he can breathe fire (but in this future, such powers might even be possible, so he shouldn’t be surprised anymore.)
“So your offer extends not just to Clint... but to all of us,” She says carefully.
“Of course,” Steve replies, wondering at how strange his comrade is acting. “That includes you too, Natasha. Is that why you’re asking? Do you need anything?”
She surprises him by laughing openly for the first time in his company. “No, Captain,” she reaches up to flick his nose. “Everything is fine. Come on, let’s go spar again. I’ll show you how to take down your opponent in less than five seconds.”
-
Now:
“They have him in a public hospital here in New York. But he’s in a private wing, guarded by agents and surveillance cameras. I’ve only snuck in once but it’s damn difficult to get out, let alone drag an unconscious coma patient out without hurting him,” Clint leans back against the hammock.
They’re downstairs and Steve is staring hard at the blackboard. He’s already sketched a map of the city, and put in the position of the hospital. Clint has given him some vague floor plans (“Sorry, I was distracted, wanted to see if Phil was... there,” and Steve can’t blame him at all.) But they’ll need more details about the layout and more importantly...
“I don’t know much about the technology they’re using,” He admits. “I know there are tiny cameras hidden in walls or something, but I’m not sure how we’ll bypass them without more information.”
“Hey, let me handle that,” Clint sits up, a confident grin on his lips. “I’m an expert at that sort of thing. We’ll just need a few tools... I can’t access my bank account at the moment. Don’t want S.H.I.E.L.D. to know what I’m up to.”
“Alright, I guess I’ll purchase them,” Steve agrees. He doesn’t use his trust fund (and culminated pay from the last seventy years) for much but buying food and art supplies. “What do we need?”
“Some top-secret tech from Stark industries... code breakers and things like that. Here,” Clint says when he sees Steve’s confusion, “I’ll make a list. You can’t buy them at any normal store though.”
Steve wrinkles his brow, “Then where do we get them?”
“Ask Stark. But don’t tell him what we’re up to yet. He’ll just blow up the hospital and try to stash Phil in his big mansion and that is not happening on my watch.”
“But... we really should let him know why we need his tech. He’d want to know,” Steve can’t quite erase image of Tony Stark’s empty and broken expression after they found out about Coulson’s supposed death. He can’t take away the words that he spoke, words that he had had to tell himself over and over again during battle and after Bucky died, is this the first time you lost a soldier?
“No,” Clint shakes his head. “That man is a freaking wild card. He’ll honestly burn headquarters to the ground if he finds out that he’s been played like the rest of us. It’s not about revenge, not yet. This is about Phil and having him home and safe. And...”
He trails off, staring at the silhouette painted on the wall, like it will give him answers.
Steve swallows painfully again and nods. “Okay. Fine, but... we’ll tell him as soon as we rescue Phil, deal?”
Clint sighs, “Alright.”
Tony is going to kill them both when he finds out. Steve is already envisioning himself begging for forgiveness from the top of Stark Tower, having to apologize again for being thoughtless. Then something else occurs to him.
“Wait, how can I possibly ask him for all these materials without a good explanation? Why don’t you ask him?”
Clint smirks and Steve thinks that the people of the future must be taking a class of some sort for mysterious smiles, “Are you kidding? He hates building stuff for me ever since I killed a dozen of his precious robots. Besides, he likes you the best.”
Steve hits his elbow against the blackboard when he turns around, “What? How do you...? That can’t be true! There’s Bruce.” Steve is pretty sure that Tony and Bruce are the best science buddies ever. It would be slightly frightening to observe how fast they bonded if Steve hadn’t had similar experience befriending his squadron.
The archer only smiles and Steve wonders if they’re still speaking the same language.
“Just call him,” Clint tosses him his cell phone. “Oh, and ask for some heart monitors and shit. We’ll need them.”
“Right... and... um...”
“Stark is number two on your speed dial, after me,” his guest replies with mock patience.
Steve throws his chalk at him, missing purposefully by two inches. He is not going to try anymore. Clearly Clint’s brand of insane has a different translation than Steve’s. But that’s fine.
There is a few moments pause before Steve asks, “Clint... what’s a speed dial?”
-
Surprisingly Tony picks up after one ring, which is awfully quick if Steve has any right to judge.
“Wow, congratulations stars and stripes!” The billionaire is practically shouting in his ear. He thinks he can hear more of that obnoxious hard metal in the background. “I thought you’d never figure out how to use my starkphone! Now we need to graduate you from text messages, unless, hey, you’re not phoning the wrong number, are you? Just so you know, I’m number one on your speed dial-”
“Huh?” Steve blinks, “No, you’re not. Clint is.” He’s pretty sure that Clint is, because he just pressed the ‘two’ before calling...
There is a frenzy of cursing that could make even the Howling Commandos pause in shock and Steve only holds his forehead in half amusement and half scandalized shock.
“Fucking Barton,” Tony finishes. “Next time we have lunch I’ll fix it, don’t you worry, stars and stripes-”
“-please stop calling me that-”
“-Now, what’s the occasion?” His voice is light but Steve can hear the undertone of worry there, “Are you finding things okay? Did your new roomie do anything?”
“...I have no idea what means, but I’ll assume ‘roommate’ and no, he’s fine. It’s just... I, uh... I need a favour.”
He sort of expects Tony to laugh off the request, turn it into another joke or lewd sexual innuendo because the man has some odd obsession of making Steve blush (apparently it’s entertaining and like teasing a puppy, not that Tony often teases puppies... he hopes.) Sometimes he thinks that Tony wants him to yell again but he can’t think of a reason why (and maybe he can, but he just can’t think of it yet.)
But when Tony lowers the volume of his music and says in a serious tone, “What is it?” Steve feels guilty all over again.
After they bring Phil to the apartment, he’ll tell Tony that the agent is alive. For now, he hopes that Tony won’t question too much of his requests.
“Alright,” Steve says cautiously. He begins to read out the list.
-
“Wow. This is all high-tech stuff, cap. Didn’t know that you had read up on all this already…” Tony comments in a suspicious way which makes Steve believe that the farce is over, that his acquaintance knows and... “Tell me the truth. You’re not really the one who’s asking for this crap, are you?”
“Um,” Steve begins to stammer, different excuses running through his mind.
“...It’s Barton, right? The little sneak is getting you to do his errands for him or something. Well tell him to get his own shit.”
“No, wait! He really needs it, please, Tony. It’s important.”
He thinks that this is it. Tony will hang up now and then he and Clint will have to find another way to get the equipment that they need but then, miraculously, Tony just sighs dramatically, “Alright. Fine. Just this once. But I’m not going to let this die down. I’ll find out what he’s up to, these are some weird requests, even for him.”
Steve almost collapses in relief, “Thanks so much, Tony. I mean it, you’re a pal-”
“Yeah, yeah,” is the quick response, “Tell Barton that he’s lucky it’s you asking, stars and stripes. I’ll have my people deliver what you need by tonight or tomorrow at the latest.”
He hangs up before Steve can berate him for using that nickname again.
-
“You should wear a disguise,” Clint tells him later, after he stops preening when Steve informs him of the successful phone call. “Maybe purchase some black clothes and a mask of some kind. We can’t have anyone suspecting that Captain America is involved in all this.”
Steve wrinkles his nose. “I’m not daft enough to waltz into a public hospital and S.H.I.E.L.D. guarded facility wearing that flashy blue and red outfit.”
Clint only sniggers, his good humour returning.
“I’m serious,” Steve blushes. “At least you and Ms. Romanoff have practical uniforms, black, good for blending in. I stand out, like someone’s painted a target on my back.”
Even during the war, he had never been comfortable as the national icon for his country. It feels wrong somehow, like he is masquerading in a body not his own, claiming to be a hero-A hero? Like you? You’re a laboratory experiment, Rogers. Everything special about you came from a bottle-when he would much rather do his job, what is right, as everyone else.
“Well, stars and stripes do suit you... oddly enough.”
Steve blushes again, reminded of Tony’s strange nickname for him, as if all he is meant to represent and be is a symbol America’s patriotism values.
“I’ve only been wearing it in memory of Phil. He helped design it,” Steve says before he can stop himself.
Then he wants to hit himself for having such a bad brain-to-mouth filter. He glances over at Clint quickly, hoping that he didn’t damper the mood. But Clint is staring thoughtfully at his crossed hands, “Yeah, I suppose he did.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve says quickly. “I didn’t mean to-”
The lines around Clint’s eyes crinkle upwards, “What? To bring up bad memories? Nah, they’re actually good ones. He’s always been a big geek about you, Cap. When I was guarding the tesserect, all the texts I’d get him from him would be ‘Oh god, we found Captain America’ or ‘He’s actually alive’ or ‘I got to watch him sleep today’ which is pretty creepy but hilarious. I’ve even got a picture of when he was seven in Captain America pyjamas.”
“Oh dear God,” Steve doesn’t think that he’ll be able to glance at those cards on the coffee table with a straight face or without grimacing again, “Please tell me that’s not true.”
Clint bursts into a fit of laughter, clapping him on the shoulder, “Course not. But for all I know, it could be. We should ask him when he wakes up.”
He doesn’t know why, but the archer’s faith in this, the mission, in him, makes him want to bury his face in his arms if only it would stop the overwhelming emotions surfacing inside. But he doesn’t. Steve just swallows and closes his eyes.
“Yes, we should.”
-
“You should finish your dinner, it’s getting cold,” he says as casually as possible. Tonight Steve has prepared a quick pasta dish and some salad. He’d had a baking spree of banana muffins while Clint had explained all he knew about the place where Phil was being held. They sit in a little pyramid-shaped stack which Clint reaches for.
“Pasta first!”
“Yes, mother,” Clint smirks through gobbles of pastry and pushes one muffin towards Steve. “Speaking of which, you should put more on your plate.”
Steve looks down at his own meal, which is barely touched and fills but a quarter of his plate.
“Its fine, I don’t eat a lot in the evenings.”
In the army he was used to the army issues rations and didn’t complain if he didn’t get more. He’s used to being hungry. But since he’s been unfrozen from the ice, he hasn’t been eating, just a portion of vegetables or a quick breakfast before he leaves to train. He bakes until the table is overflowing with baked goods but he has no appetite for them, hence his continued charity to the food bank.
Clint gives him a glare that tells him that he’ll find an arrow desecrating all of his precious sketchbooks if he doesn’t stuff the muffin in his face and so Steve complies. Clint nods smugly, ignoring his salad for more dessert.
“...Maybe we should ask Ms. Romanoff to help us,” Steve suggests once he’s swallowed more muffin than his appetite will allow him (and even then, it’s only half a muffin and Clint doesn’t appear happy about it.) “She could sneak in as a nurse or something.”
“No way,” Clint points his fork at Steve. “We’re not involving Nat. End of story. Moving on.”
“But I don’t see why,” the tactician in him speaks. “We could use as much help as we can get. She wouldn’t betray us.”
“I know that. But just, please cap, I can’t let her get into this. It’s my mission. My fault, my responsibility.”
Steve wants to tell Clint that it isn’t; it never was and never will be. He wants to let Clint know that his actions under Loki’s spell were never his fault and that he doesn’t have to keep fighting to repent for his nonexistent sins.
But when he is about to say just that, Clint shakes his head. “Please, Steve. I know. I know. Just, please. I don’t... I can’t let her do this for me.”
He doesn’t want to agree. It’s against his nature and he thinks that Tony and Natasha need to know about this, more than Steve does. He doesn’t even know why Clint went to him instead of the other two, who are probably closer to him (well, at least Natasha is.) Yet the way Clint is pleading with him tells Steve that there is much he doesn’t understand about the relationship between Natasha, Phil and the archer and he thinks that he may never fully understand it.
He closes his eyes again, “Tell her after we’ve got Phil settled here.”
Again, there’s a sigh, this time more exhausted and worn.
“I will.”
-
Clint goes to stake out the hospital and find out the floor plans. Steve cautions him to be careful of his wounds but the archer tells him that he’ll be fine. “Surveillance is my specialty, captain,” he assures him. “They won’t even know that I’m there.”
It doesn’t stop Steve from worrying but it does ease some of the tension.
Steve spends his morning drive thinking up different scenarios and plans of attack to get Phil out of the hospital. They will need to do their research, find out what kind of medication Phil will need. Will they need to carry the machines at the same time as Phil? Will he be able to breathe without them? Steve is glad the he told Clint to steal Phil’s hospital records as well.
He’s so distracted that he nearly walks into Director Nick Fury but luckily his reflexes let him dodge that collision. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to look at the man without trying to glare him to death any time soon. Steve wants explanations, but now isn’t the time. Clint needs this, to save Phil first, and Steve will be damned if he can’t make that happen.
“Rogers,” Fury acknowledges him, a skeptical twitch of his frown telling Steve that the director has taken notice of his behavior.
“Director,” Steve greets him, trying not to show how tense he is. “Good morning.”
“No missions today, captain,” as usual, “but I do have an update on one of your fellow Avengers.”
“Oh,” He feigns innocence. “Is it serious? Are they alright?”
Fury looks, if possible, sterner, “I’m not sure. You tell me.”
“...I’m not quite sure what you mean, sir.”
“Agent Clint Barton has been missing for several weeks since his last mission. No one seems able to track him down,” Fury explains. “You wouldn’t happen to have any information that we could use to track him down, would you?”
Steve thinks of the confusion (and blots out the other feelings) that he felt when he was updated on the twenty first century, a mere eight hours after he woke, brings it all up so that it shows on his face, and says, “No, sir, not at all. Agent Barton and I aren’t on close terms. I hardly know anything about him.”
Fury studies him for a moment, before he puts a hand on Steve’s shoulder and then nods, “Alright. Enjoy your day, captain.”
It is only when Fury is out of sight that Steve thinks his pulse stops rushing.
-
Of course, it is only then, when he has his guard down that he finds himself yanked into one of the offices and locked in, a hand clamped on his mouth and the other hand to his arms in a hold that he can’t get out of easily. But that doesn’t stop him from trying.
Steve thrashes, hoping to knock over the other person while his muffled protests are cut off when he hears a low hiss, “It’s me!”
Immediately, he halts, vision narrowing on Natasha. He hadn’t realized that she had returned from her mission yet.
She lets go of him but doesn’t move her fists from the collar of his shirt. Her eyes bore into his skin. “I know you lied to Director Fury. You have a terrible poker face. Yes, you do. Now tell me, where’s Clint and what’s happened to him?”
He considers denying everything, but one glance at Natasha and Steve just can’t lie to her face to face. Bucky and the Howling Commandos would be laughing at him for his sentimentality, he contemplates.
“Well?” Natasha frowns.
Steve lets out a long breath. “You can’t tell anyone about this.”
She raises an eyebrow.
Then he feels embarrassed to ever have said that, because the Black Widow is the master at holding secrets to her chest. She would be the least likely candidate to diverge their plans. (But of course, this is yet another one of the reasons why Steve wanted Natasha in on the operation.)
“Right, and... Clint doesn’t want you to know.”
Natasha crosses her arms. “I’ll be the judge of that. Now talk.”
He does.
-
The Black Widow is terrifying when she’s on a rampage, cursing violently in Russian. The office is not recognizable anymore with chairs toppled over and the actual tables broken in pieces, the light bulb dangling by wires from the ceiling. He thinks that she’s caused more destruction than Thor did to the gym before the Norse god returned to Asgard.
“I can’t believe this... that Director Fury would... and Clint, that, that stupid”-another guttural sound in her mother tongue-“did he really think that he could stop me from helping? Alright, let’s go, Captain.”
“Wait... Are you sure...?”
Natasha’s smile is, if possible, even more frightening, “You wouldn’t be able to stop me from helping you free Coulson if you tried. Now let’s go back to your place. I think it’s time that you showed me around.”
Steve tries not to feel sorry for Clint, he really does.
-
Natasha takes charge of the bike, because Steve thinks she might cut off his hands if he tries to drive and he’s too polite to refuse (besides, she’s just as an able pilot as she is a fighter, probably better than Steve is.) She is a reckless driver. Steve has to hold on for dear life because he thinks that they’re going to crash into another unsuspecting truck or taxi with the number of times that Natasha lane changes to bypass the slower vehicles.
They stop at a florist’s shop for reasons known only to Natasha. She carries out stacks of potted plants. Herbs, she tells him, and other healing remedies for practical purposes. “Your place will need them. Never know when you need some aloe or the antidote to an unknown poison,” she says when she makes him hold them carefully in their plastic bags. “Water them every day, and don’t drop them before we get there.”
He treats the plants like they’re the keys to the world and is thankful when he gives her the last directions to his apartment building. Before he knows it, Natasha is pushing him up the stairs where he leads her to his door.
“Hey, welcome home, man,” Clint calls out from the dining area. “I picked up some more flour for your baking and I got the floor plans...”
The archer drops the bag of sugar and salt on his foot when he sees Natasha there.
“Shit,” He stares at him, betrayed. “Steve!”
“Um, I’m sorry?”
“Oh no,” the Black Widow growls behind him, “Don’t apologize for what you can’t help, Steve... now, you on the other hand,” she glowers at Clint.
With wide eyes, Clint tries to jump up on the counter to get away from her.
It hardly matters at this point, as Steve observes Natasha storming over to Clint and dragging him by the wrists into the guest bedroom, slamming the door shut. He doesn’t even want to know what they’re going to do there. Hopefully make up, and soon.
He only sighs, moving to tidy up the floor and put his new plants on the floor by the windows. Afterwards, Steve steps downstairs to make some adjustments on the plan to include the Black Widow. There are a series of loud bangs and crashing sounds upstairs and Steve sincerely hopes that they’ll leave his few possessions intact.
-
Its lunch by the time Natasha and Clint come out of the guest bedroom. There are bruises littering Clint’s arms and face yet only a scratch has marred Natasha’s. She looks pleased while Clint is grumbling, acting as if the world will end tomorrow. Steve definitely doesn’t want to ask.
He sets up three places at the table, thankful he has six chairs. They’ve yet to be painted yet, along with the furniture, but Steve’s muse is itching to get started. He wonders what might be created there, if it will be more scenes of nature or colours he doesn’t understand.
Now that she isn’t blinded with anger, Natasha is staring with interest at the murals surrounding them on all sides and above them. Her lips part a little when she takes in the ceiling, the patterns of stars illustrating different people and spelling different names.
“Interesting what you’ve done with the décor, Steve. You’re very skilled.”
“More like a living Da Vinci,” Clint snorts. “You should see what he’s painted downstairs. It’s amazing.”
Steve feels his cheeks colour and he shakes his head, “Oh, no. It’s not that great. You can look at it later. Both of you should eat something.”
The two assassins share an amused glance and take seats beside each other. On the other side of the table, Steve brings out a tray of sandwiches and another of croissants. He has some fruit too, in a bowl, but knowing Clint, the fruit will be ignored. Steve grabs an apple and when Clint gives him the evil eye, half a sandwich. In return, Clint adds a banana to his stockpile of beef sandwiches.
“We need a way to infiltrate the hospital,” Natasha says between mumbled bites, starting with the croissants. “These are really good by the way, did you bake them?”
“Already have one,” Clint mutters, biting into his sandwich with relish. “Just need to hack into their cameras with Stark’s equipment and then we’re all set.”
“Oh really?” Natasha steals one of his croissants. “And how do you plan on entering?”
“Disguises.”
“Uh-huh. What disguises?”
“We’ll be wearing masks and dressed in black, no one will know who we are!”
“Right,” Natasha replies with her blank face. “And if someone sees you they’ll just think you’re a robber or a terrorist and shoot you on sight. Brilliant plan.”
Clint scowls at her, looking ready to start hurtling croissants and bread. Steve takes this moment to intervene.
“Well, what were you thinking then?” He asks. “Because we do need a way to sneak Agent Coulson out of the hospital without being conspicuous-the original plan couldn’t account for more effective disguises since Clint and I don’t have access to them. We were just going to break in, disable the agents and try to run off with him.”
Natasha smiles secretively. “I have contacts. I can get us in as hospital support staff and passes with S.H.I.E.L.D.”
“That’s great!” Steve beams at them. “Clint, we’re going to put you on surveillance and sniper duty. You can warn us when we might get compromised.”
“As long as I don’t have to dress up as a nurse, I’m fine with whatever you say, Captain.”
“Oh? Are you sure that Coulson wouldn’t get a kick out of you playing doctor?”
“Shut up, Nat.”
Steve put a hand on his forehead, “Natasha can get in as one of the staff and gain entry into the wing during one of the hours when there is less security and we’ve bugged the cameras. You’ll need to take the route to the quickest exit, acquire an ambulance.”
“I can get one,” says Clint. “It’d be a good place to put in our equipment too.”
“Great. We’ll need an excuse to wheel Agent Coulson out though.”
“I’ll just make some fake badge, flash it around. Should do the trick,” Natasha tells them. She seems to be on her fourth croissant so far. “You should come in disguised with me, Steve.”
He tilts his head thoughtfully, “Won’t I be recognized? It would make more sense for me to be on surveillance with Clint.”
Though, when he takes the time to survey their options again he knows that Clint is capable of handling surveillance on his own. Natasha could use some backup if things get messy or other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents get involved. There needs to be a second person to take care of outside threats so that Natasha can secure Phil and escape.
“No, wait… it’s a good idea. I’m assuming you have different ways of hiding who I am?”
Natasha smiles dangerously again, “Oh, I do. Don’t worry, I do.”
The rest of the lunch goes smoothly, but Steve doesn’t miss the pained glances Clint continues to send Natasha throughout the meal when he thinks that neither occupant at the table is looking. He wonders what other reasons Clint could have for wanting to keep the Black Widow from the truth about Agent Coulson besides the emotional pain.
He wonders if it could be detrimental to their mission.
-
Clint goes to wash the dishes as he always does. Natasha observes this, calling it ‘domestic’ and Clint responds by flicking soap in her hair. Steve wonders if he’ll have to break up another fight and wishes that they would both just sort out their problems and anger towards each other right there and then.
But surprisingly no water fight erupts by the sink. Instead, Steve sees Clint whistling a tune from Brahms to himself.
Natasha is looking with interest at the mural in the kitchen, the painted face on the cupboard doors, with long angelic wings that stretch into the constellations on the ceiling. She touches the tips of the feathers, like she can feel them despite the flat surface that they exist upon. Then Natasha traces the details of the woman’s hair and her eyes.
“Who is she?” She asks.
Steve feels his throat constrict as he says, “My mother.”
Both Clint and Natasha turn towards him in surprise and regret, but he can’t bear to see that on their faces, so he says ‘excuse me’ and retreats to his art room.
Part 2 cont